


Feeling Adventurous

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Episode: s14e15 Peace of Mind, First Time, Flustered Castiel (Supernatural), Justin Smith!Sam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22043290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: “Partner?” Sam says. “Super! That’s swell!”
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 41
Kudos: 104
Collections: SPN J2 Xmas Exchange





	Feeling Adventurous

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the 2019 SPN J2 Xmas Exchange. My giftee was harplesscastiel and their truly delightful prompt was as follows: "Justin Smith!Sam seduces a frazzled!Castiel." What a treat. Thanks to the mods for running the challenge and to BlindSwanDive for a last-minute but very helpful beta!

“Is something wrong?” Sam asks. Castiel looks at his friend, who is wearing a cardigan and whose beautiful hair is tied back in a way that Castiel has only once seen the real Sam wear it; during the time when Dean was possessed by Michael and Sam’s beard grew out, when Sam’s hair grew longer too. Sometimes Sam would pull it back from his face in irritation and loop it up, messily, exposing the length of his neck. Today Sam’s hair is not messy but neatly tucked and pinned and accessorized by a pair of glasses whose black rims sit just over his eyebrows.

“Agent?” says Castiel.

“Justin,” Sam says. “Justin Smith.” Castiel looks in alarm at Cindy, who beams placidly. Her husband Justin Smith has been brutally murdered but she seems to have accepted this replacement with equanimity. Perhaps this smaller mystery is a clue to the larger case. Perhaps Sam made some deduction during the night and was so impatient to take action that he did not have time to stop and leave a message. Perhaps he was awake and working whilst Cas was rereading Sunny’s love letters and pondering the girth and heft of the male appendage.

“I’m your partner,” Castiel says, with as much assertiveness as he can muster. Sam is used to improvisation. He can pick up Castiel’s tentative baton and run with it.

“Partner?” Sam says. “Super! That’s swell!” He beams at his wife. “Thank you so much, sweetie. He’s perfect.” Then he looks Castiel in the eye and takes his hand. “Would you like to come upstairs now? Or should we begin with a cocktail? Cindy makes a wonderful martini. And I do find that a drink helps a man relax.”

Cas just wants this over with. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Sam smiles at him, bright and dimpled. “That’s the kind of positive attitude I like. Cindy, honey, we’re going upstairs.”

“Have fun, boys!” Cindy says. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Sam guffaws.

The bedroom is as creamy and chintzy as the rest of the house. Two matching queen beds with gold satin upholstery are flanked by shell-shaped uplighters and vanity units with a pearlized sheen. The curtains are made of heavy, embroidered brown fabric and are tied back with loops of shiny braid. The carpet is thick and white.

Sam walks into the bedroom and sits on one of the beds. He looks expectantly at Castiel.

Castiel closes the door behind them. “What’s going on, Sam?” he says.

“My name is Justin,” Sam says. “And really that depends on your preference, Agent.” He weights the title with a suggestiveness that Castiel can’t quite puzzle out.

“My preference?”

“Yes,” says Sam. “Would you say that you’re an olive? Or more of a cocktail stick? I’m quite flexible.”

Castiel blinks, fighting panic. Perhaps Sam has gone mad. It’s the simplest explanation, on some levels. “Why are you here?” he says. “What’s happening with the case?”

“Oh, Agent,” says Sam. “I think we both know why we’re here.” He begins to unbutton his cardigan. Castiel should do something. But he is pinned in place, transfixed by the activity of Sam’s mobile fingers.

Once the cardigan is hanging open from his shoulders, Sam moves his hands back up to his throat and loosens his tie. He tugs it through his collar with a silken swish and casts it carelessly onto the floor. He meets Castiel’s eye. “Could you lend a hand?” he says.

This is not the instruction that Castiel was expecting. This is not the situation he anticipated when he entered the house. But he has been flailing since yesterday, when Sam took that first sip of Harrington’s milkshake, and if this demand is unforeseen it is, at least, mercifully clear and his emerging sense of Sam’s intention is compelling. He steps forward to stand between Sam’s open thighs and slides open the small plastic button that fastens Sam’s shirt collar with trembling hands. 

He makes his way gradually down Sam’s broad chest. As the shirt falls away, it reveals a white cotton undershirt. Springy curls are visible above the neckline. The dark shapes of Sam’s nipples are evident beneath.

Castiel undoes the final button and Sam shrugs the shirt away. Then he tugs the undershirt over his head. Strands of his hair detach from the confines of his ponytail and fall across his eyes. Castiel is sweating. His coat feels heavy and uncomfortable.

“Let’s get you out of that trench,” says Sam easily. He reaches up and slides his hands under the fabric, cupping Castiel’s shoulders in his generous palms. Castiel shivers and the coat falls to the floor. Sam nods. “Now the tie.”

Castiel is soon shirtless himself. Standing in the warm air of Justin Smith’s bedroom, he feels oddly conscious of the softness of his body as compared to the smooth muscularity of Sam’s. Then Sam unbuckles Castiel’s belt and Castiel loses track of his anxieties, dizzied by the flash of giddy excitement that zips across the pit of his stomach. 

“We’ll have these off in a jiffy,” Sam says, and he shuffles his own sensible pants and his tight white briefs down the considerable length of his legs. He kicks them off. They are both entirely naked now. Castiel feels the echo of familiarity, not deja vu but deja conçu. He has imagined this; Sam on a bed before him. The details are, in many respects, imperfect. But the core premise is correct.

Sam beams at the sight of Castiel’s erect penis. “That’s the kind of positive attitude I like,” he says. His fingers curl around Castiel’s tentative baton, which feels less tentative by the second, throbbing with a sudden and definite imperative.

“Not so much a cocktail stick as a very fine flagpole, I’d say,” says Sam. He winks. And then he leans away, his torso twisting impressively, and produces from the pearly drawer of his bedside cabinet a small jar with a blue label. Vaseline. Sam scoops a generous fingerful and begins to loosen himself. He is still wearing his glasses.

Castiel is standing at the end of the bed with his pants around his ankles. This seems inadequate. “Can I lend a hand?” he asks.

Sam smiles. “Of course. Far be it from me.” He offers Castiel the jar.

Sam’s insides are soft, warm, and oddly reassuring. Cas probes carefully at first but his confidence grows as Sam begins to show the first signs of discomposure. His hair has become positively disorderly, the neat bun a thing of the past. Coppery strands stick to his forehead and lips. A flush rises up his chest and settles at his throat. Sweat beads on his skin.

“I’d say we’re ready to go,” Sam says eventually, his voice uneven but encouraging. “Let’s hop on the, uh, good foot and do the bad thing.”

Castiel looks down at his feet.

“Lickety-split,” says Sam. Castiel looks up. Sam’s hands are clasped, now, around his own thighs. He is presenting himself. Castiel moves forward and with trembling caution, proceeds. A hot shiver runs up his spine, settling at the base of his skull. “That’s the spirit,” Sam says. “Now, give it a good go.” Castiel begins to thrust. His hands are tight around Sam’s hips, pale against the tan of Sam’s torso. The muscles in Sam’s legs and stomach tense as he pushes himself up to meet Castiel’s movement, the two of them in rhythm. This is what it is, what Castiel has been missing in his previous bodily encounters. The harmony; two of you, as one. There is a bubble inside of him, in his chest or perhaps his head; perhaps low down in his groin. It is steadily filling with air.

There is a knock on the door and before Castiel can take a step to amend the situation, it swings open behind him. Cindy edges into view. She is carrying a tray of martinis, which she settles on the vanity beside the bed. “Don’t let me interrupt you boys,” she trills.

Her appearance shocks Castiel out of his head and into an awareness of his position; of Sam’s presence before him, sweaty and physical; of his own body, seen as Cindy must perceive it. It should be humiliating, deflating. Instead, it tips him over the edge. A rush - a pop - an explosion. Castiel shudders his release.

“Jolly good,” Sam says. “Excellent. But just a little more, if you could.” His glasses are foggy now, clouded with the evidence of their exertions. Castiel looks down. Sam has not yet climaxed.

Cindy reaches a manicured hand towards her husband’s member. Castiel smacks it away. It’s an unconscious motion, un-thought-through. The moment afterward freezes, extends.

“Sir!” Sam’s tone is icy. “I’ll not have a finger laid on my lady wife.” He shuffles suddenly backward, leaving Castiel’s wilting penis exposed to the chill of the open room and Cindy’s outraged glare.

“I’m sorry,” says Castiel.

“I should think so,” Cindy says, ruffled.

Sam sits up in bed. He is still naked and magnificently erect. “Kindly dress yourself and leave.”

Every bone in Castiel’s skeleton is ringing like a just-punched jaw. “Of course,” he says. He scrabbles on the floor for his clothes, dressing himself haphazardly as he backs away. 

In his haste, he almost falls down the stairs, stumbling at the bottom and landing awkwardly on his ankle. As Castiel hauls himself upright, Sam appears at the top. His glasses have unfogged but his hair is wild, his body devoid of clothing. He brandishes an admonishing finger. His penis sways with the movement of the gesture.

“And don’t come back!” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sastiel but I imagine not my last, hahahaha


End file.
